Rawst Berry
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: Sam changes Dean's favorite rule for the worse, Dean scares a teenager half to death and Cas... Cas manages to make the crappiest monster-free day Dean's had in a while a lot better.- A Destiel one-shot. There's kissing. It's cute.


A/N

_I want to dedicate this piece of crack-y goodness to the cappuccino that burnt my mouth today, it must have been brewed by plot bunnies. _

_The title is stolen from the Burn Heal berry in the Pokémon game franchise, because I'm random like that and can't think of good titles, like, ever. _

_Hope you enjoy what I came up with._

_Warnings__: There's one F-bomb dropped somewhere around the beginning and I don't know about other swearing, I just kinda typed up my Interpretation of pissy Dean and this is what happened- just go with it_

_Disclaimer__: I BOUGHT A PENTAGRAM AND A BLACK WING FOR MY BRACELET TODAY AND IT SCREAMS SUPERNATURAL OKAY. Other than that... I really don't own the epicness that is this wonderful show._

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><p><strong>Rawst Berry<strong>

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"_But Sydney, how can I make you understand! I don't love him, I love you. it was all a big mistake. Forgive me, for the sake of our unborn child!" The brunette winds her hands dramatically around her flat stomach as her greasy-haired ex-lover stares pensively into the distance. _

_"It's too late, Miranda. Whatever we had..."- badly acted theatric pause-"...it is no more." _

Dean winces at the beat-up old TV set as if it is the cause of all evil in this world for even playing crappy soaps like the one currently running nonstop. The motel room is in most places covered so thickly in dust- and other things the hunter really rather wouldn't think about- that he doesn't actually dare sitting down and is just uselessly pacing the narrow space between the two worn beds. Sam is half doing research on what might-or-might-not-be a case and half watching the soap opera version of a crime against humanity.

"Dude, seriously," he '_harrumph_'s in poorly disguised disapproval, "you make fun of me for marathoning Dr Sexy but this... this is totally worse."

His brother shrugs his laughably broad shoulders and scoffs right back at him. "It's the way it works, Dean. Driver picks the music, shotgun gets the remote."

While Dean approves of the first half he also distinctly remembers the rule ending a lot differently. And he should know since he friggin' made it up.

"I could switch the channel anytime. Anytime!" he says but the slightly sulking undertone together with his too-loud voice don't get the lie across in a believable way. Truth is, his giant ass-hat of a brother had promptly upon entering the shitty excuse for a motel room claimed the remote control for himself before Dean even swallowed the last bite of his even shittier bacon burger. The words of protest transformed into a silent pout of dismay when after that _Goliath_ had placed the remote on top of the goddamned cupboard which is admittedly out of Dean's immediate reach. He won't give his brother the satisfaction of humiliating himself by a complicated climb-and-jump maneuver to retrieve the item.

For this once it looks like Sam has triumphed when he sing-songs "Keep telling yourself that if it makes you sleep better." The shit-eating grin following the statement is enough to make Dean grab his keys.

"I'll get some coffee," he declares when he is already halfway out the door, leaving a small cloud of ancient motel room dust as he slams it shut behind him. A part of him hopes fervently that his little brother fucking chokes on it.

The little trip to the town square of middle-of-freaking-nowhere, Nebraska doesn't necessarily brighten his irreversibly sour mood when the damn stoplight at the only intersection in a twenty mile radius turns red and he- seeing as the Impala is the only car on the road- keeps on driving only to be pulled over by probably the single most meticulous cop in the state.

After a fifteen-minute discussion and a hefty fine he is advised to consider himself lucky and maybe stick to traffic rules in the future. Dean clenches his teeth and drives the rest of the way without the usual blaring of classic rock from his speakers, hoping that at least a decent cup of hot coffee will calm his ever-growing irritation.

Alas, it isn't meant to be.

The coffee place he knows provides the beverage of his desire is just closing up as he enters, the busty lady behind the counter apologetically telling him that they just finished cleaning all the machines but would be happy to give him a discount voucher for his troubles. He may or may not have told her to shove it up her posterior before he left. His anger at everything and nothing is quickly building to full-blown rage at this point and he scratches the spare change he keeps in his pockets together to at least get a cup of disgusting gas-station coffee from across the street.

The poor teen behind the counter doesn't even know what hits him when he is out of the blue verbally assaulted by a flannel-wearing douche with obvious anger management issues who comes waltzing into the shop with an expression so dark it rivals even that of Ebenezer Scrooge. "Hey Freckle-Face. Coffee. Black. Pronto." He throws the amount of money he didn't bother counting on the countertop, some of the coins bounce off and onto the floor. "Keep the change." The boy, in fear for his young life, nods stiffly and goes to fetch a to-go cup before filling it with the steaming dark liquid from a can below the shelf with the cigarettes, careful not to spill anything, though this proves to be an obvious problem considering his shaking hands.

Once the cup is pushed across the grimy counter the teen steps back and ducks- whether he does it to find shelter or pick up the coins strewn around the floor is unclear.

Dean doesn't notice the intimidating effect he has on the kid and just grabs his coffee, feeling like he's reached a point at which he cannot possibly get any more annoyed at the world. He crosses the road back to the Impala and gets in, balancing the cup in one hand as he starts the engine and maneuvers his baby out onto the highway- carefully observing the traffic light- in search for a spot to catch the last sun rays of the day and consume his caffeinated beverage in the piece and quiet of no one's company.

The hunter pulls over into an empty dirt road that leads to a forlorn looking tree. He stops just short of the shrubbery surrounding it and pauses momentarily, blessing the serenity, before exiting his vehicle in order to make himself comfortable on the shiny hood. The car's surface is warm from the late summer sun and he thinks it's the first thing that's actually nice on this bitch of a day. With a contented sigh he lifts the paper cup to his waiting lips and takes a generous sip-

"Motherfu-" he cuts himself off and throws the small container from his body in surprise and disgust, tongue darting out reflexively to nurse his suddenly burnt upper lip, though it's not all that helpful because the pink muscle hasn't been spared from the way-too-hot drink either. Great. Just peachy.

He decides it's official that the Universe hates Dean Winchester.

His very mature sulking is rudely interrupted by a voice that really shouldn't be this familiar and instantly mood-lightening but yet still is just that. "Hello, Dean"

The guy really didn't know any other phrase of greeting.

"Sometimes you could just say 'hi'," he says and even without looking up he guesses the intruder is wearing a tan trench coat and has his blue eyes squinted and his head tilted in confusion. The fact that he really _really_ shouldn't be able to picture all this so clearly doesn't bother him right now.

There is a brief pause he recognizes as the angel's consideration period before his celestial friend mutters, "Hi."

"Hi, Cas," he echoes, a genuine smile playing at the corners of his burnt mouth at how very unfitting the words sounded in the angel's gruff voice. "What're you doing here?"

"Sam told me I'd probably find you sulking somewhere just off the Highway."

Of course he did. The hunter decides to bite back the remark about what a little bitch his brother is and just stares off into empty space wearily for a second. "It's just been one of those days, y'know?"

Castiel's _Stupid-Human-You-Need-To-Be-More-Specific-blah-blah-blah-I'm-An-Angel-of-the-Lord_ look tells him loud and clear that _no_, he does _not_ know, _thank you very much_.

With a sigh Dean tells the short story of his crappy day, starting with Sam holding the remote hostage and concluding with his painful encounter with the Coffee from Hell. Immediately he is reminded of how uncomfortable the prickling ache of his tongue and lips is and from one second to the next he forgets how to turn off the feeling of awareness.

"Should I heal you?" the angel looks concerned at Dean's obvious discomfort and has already stepped into the hunter's bubble of personal space, the proximity probably inappropriate for a platonic relationship, and raises his right hand but stops mid-motion, as if considering to backpedal. Somehow Dean wants to say 'yes' and have those Devine fingers work their mojo on his lips.

"Nah, it's fine. It'll heal itself in a couple of days, no big deal." He says instead, his traitorous tongue giving away his desire for painlessness when it darts out to lick the sore flesh of his lip even as the lie flows freely from it.

The look the angel gives him holds a strange form of admiration, as if Cas wonders at the hunter's utter selflessness and endurability. He has to cast his gaze downwards, breaking under the pregnant blue-eyed stare. "It's just a stupid burn on a stupid day. Whatever." He mumbles dismissively.

And then Castiel decides to heal his pathetic ass anyway, because that's just how the angel rolls. Only that he doesn't- as obviously intended originally- place his healing hands on Dean's mouth but instead covers the hunter's burnt lips with his chapped ones.

For a full minute Dean is too stunned to react. Even more so when the angel obviously doesn't grasp how infinitely awkward it is when a guy kisses a guy without warning and then doesn't pull back, especially if one guy is a very straight Dean Winchester and the other is a freaking angel. After that minute, as confusion and shock wear off, he thinks that maybe Cas doesn't get how uncomfortable and awkward the situation is because, well, it's really not.

That's when Dean tentatively kisses back, lips already miraculously healed by the angelic touch. It's the chastest kiss he's received since pre-school when he asked a girl called Sandra to be his Valentine and got a kiss on the lips and a very determined 'no' in response.

To his frustration he finds that the angle isn't all that great for a deeper kiss, considering he is still sitting on the Impala's hood and Cas is standing next to the car and he pulls back before the kiss does become awkward after all.

"What was that for?" he asks, slightly breathless.

Castiel does the closest thing to smirking he is capable of and licks his lips, a movement very attentively observed by Dean. "It seemed like you needed the comfort." After the angel utters those words Dean realizes just how true they are. He really did need the comfort, especially after the day he's had. "Also, I have healed your injuries," Cas adds.

Well, Dean Winchester wouldn't be Dean Winchester if he didn't act on his impulses, so he does just that and speaks his mind before thinking of his words or what they're implying. "My tongue is still kinda sore though."

At this Castiel does smirk after all and it's a glorious sight, Dean thinks, as he dives into another kiss, meeting the angel halfway. Cas braces himself on the Impala on either side of the hunter and moves his lips teasingly with Dean's before he's had enough and runs his pseudo-burnt tongue over the angel's lips, demanding access to the other's mouth- which he is granted- while stroking a hand through disarrayed black hair.

The angel is very thorough in healing the hunter's tongue this time.

They pull apart with matching grins just as the last stray rays of sun disappear behind the horizon in the distance, signaling them that it's time to go home because no one knows better than them what lurks in the shadows of the night.

Whatever happened between them, whatever made Castiel kiss Dean, is not something that needs to be talked about because, honestly, neither of them is verbally capable enough to find the appropriate words. Their eloquence lies mostly in their actions. Dean is proud of this conclusion and hums enthusiastically along with the familiar Led Zeppelin melody on the comfortable drive home, the angel riding shotgun.

When he explains that this, after Sam's rules of course, means that he gets the remote the angel is only too happy to watch the Dr Sexy, MD marathon back on the crappy TV in the motel, much to Dean's delight and the younger Winchester's annoyance.

In retrospect, Dean thinks that his little brother's rule might be useful after all and his day wasn't entirely that bad.

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><p><em>AN 2_

_Aaaand cut. How'd you like it? I know I had a helluva lot of fun and giggles while writing it. _

_I really like reviews, by the way, so feel free to leave them. x_


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